


skirts and sweaters

by slightlyworriedhuman



Series: The Apocalypse Doesn't Care About Gender Norms [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Agender Five, Autistic Five, Gender Exploration, Sibling Bonding, Skirts, it isn't said outright that he's autistic but it's there, supportive family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyworriedhuman/pseuds/slightlyworriedhuman
Summary: "I don't want to be a ‘cute little schoolboy’ anymore, alright?” Five snapped. For some reason, the thought of himself as a schoolboy was enough to make his skin prickle. Was it the implication that he was younger than the rest of them, less mature despite his life?...Yeah, it was definitely that. Absolutely.Five wants a change in wardrobe. His siblings are more than happy to help.





	skirts and sweaters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lauren!!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lauren%21%21).



> The very dear Lauren @fivesshorts on tumblr gave me the prompt of Five and Klaus bonding over skirts, and things just spiralled from there.  
> Hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> Warnings for some transphobia and the t slur.

With a heavy sigh, Five closed his closet door, face twisting into an irritated frown. He was bored of the same damn schoolboy uniform. No, bored wasn't the correct word; it was some sort of infuriated apathy directed at the clothes hanging in a neat row in his closet, so concentrated in this moment he was almost surprised that the offending garments weren't catching fire. So much for having escaped it 45 years ago; now, the outfits that we're the only thing he had work for the first 13 years of his life were the only thing in his closet. Allison  _ still _ hadn't gone shopping with him like she'd sworn he would— sadly, he had no access to funds of his own yet— and although he would have loved to just hop into a department store after hours and take what he wanted, Vanya's looks of admonishment across the table whenever he had mentioned the thought were enough to make him pause. Funny; she had always been the one he had been the most wary of disappointing. 

“Well, fuck,” he muttered, standing before the closed doors. He wasn't going to wear his damned pyjamas out. Opening the closet door again, he raked a hand through his sleep-tousled hair as his eyes flicked through the uniforms. Well, he supposed that not  _ all  _ of the navy outfit was bad; the mere thought of wearing a loose t-shirt as opposed to the blazer and sweater combo was enough to make him shudder in distaste. No, that part had to stay. Some things were meant to stay the same, regardless of situation.

Sighing again, he picked a uniform off the rack, eyeing the shorts with distaste. The echoes of the Handler's comments about his shorts rang in his ears, and with a faint snarl curling his lip, he muttered, “‘Cute little schoolboy shorts,’ my  _ ass. _ ” Grabbing the neatly folded shorts from the hanger, he tossed them to the side without a second glance. What else could he pilfer from his siblings, though? It wasn't like Luther had pants that would fit him, and he would rather kill himself than wear Diego’s pseudo-bondage gear. The day he wore leather would be the day he swallowed a bullet. Vanya wore only slacks and pantsuit as of late, and even though she was the closest in size, he had already tried on a pair of her pants before, to no avail. Allison was too tall, the only thing in Ben's closet would be more shorts like the ones now discarded on his floor… Oh christ. 

He couldn't help but groan before steeling himself and teleporting into Klaus's room. Immediately, the smell of Klaus's odd cologne pervaded his nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose as Klaus shouted, falling off his bed. “Jesus— holy  _ christ _ , Five, give a man some  _ warning! _ ” 

“I'm in the house, that should be warning enough,” Five replied in a droll monotone, stepping over Klaus's legs and moving to his closet. 

“You gotta have some, I dunno, some kind of warning system, man,” Klaus complained from the floor, rolling over so he could sit up as Five tugged the closet door open. “I could have been beating off in here! You don't know!” 

“Ben, I am so sorry you've put up with him for this long,” he sighed, scanning Klaus's closet critically. Pausing, he looked over his shoulder, for a moment almost expecting to see Ben. “What do you think is worse, him or hell? Or are they the same?” Turning back, he heard a pause, then an indignant, “Oy! I thought you were on my side, asshole!” 

Allowing himself a quiet chuckle, Five finally reached in, pulling out a handful of bottoms. Nose wrinkling in distaste, he turned back to Klaus, holding up the leather pants with weird diamond shaped holes cut seeming at random into the sides. “You live like this?”

“Yes, I do, thank you very much,” Klaus said with an air of wounded pride as he stood and snatched the leggings from Five's hands. “It's called fashion, Five, something you obviously have no sense of.” Scoffing, Five rolled his eyes, but was cut off in what he was about to say by Klaus's next words. “What're you raiding my closet for, anyways? I haven't hidden any drugs in there for months.”

He shrugged. “I'm tired of the shorts. Got a problem?” Klaus raised his hands defensively.

“Hey, no problem, man. Why don’t you want them, though? You always made such a cute little schoolboy—”

“Yeah, well, I don't  _ want _ to be a ‘cute little schoolboy’ anymore, alright?” Five snapped. For some reason, the thought of himself as a schoolboy was enough to make his skin prickle. Was it the implication that he was younger than the rest of them, less mature despite his life? 

...Yeah, it was definitely that. Absolutely.

Klaus paused for a moment, then asked curiously, “Then why are you looking through my stuff?” 

“Well, I don't exactly see Luther having pants that would fit me, and I'd rather shoot myself than wear anything Diego has worn with that shitty harness,” Five huffed, looking down at the collection of clothes in his hands. 

“Why not ask Allison? Or Vanya?” 

“Allison's too tall, Klaus. If you haven't noticed, her legs go up to about my chest.” Perhaps an exaggeration, but the point was still there. “And I've already tried Vanya's stuff. No dice.” 

“Yeah, but like… Literally none of the stuff I wear would fit you either,” Klaus pointed out, gently taking the items Five had gathered from him and setting them down on the bed. 

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do? Allison's not going to shopping for me without me, and it's not like I'm going to wear pyjamas all day!” Exhaling angrily through his nose, he started to pace, still clutching the blazer and sweater in his hand. “I don't  _ want _ to wear those damn shorts anymore, alright? They're juvenile and they don't  _ feel  _ right anymore. I need something new.”

“Whoa, hey, calm down there.” Klaus grabbed his arm as he stalked by, effectively stopping Five in his tracks. “You want something new that feels better to wear, right?” 

“Yes, that's what I  _ said,”  _ Five huffed, trying to stop himself from glaring at Klaus. He  _ was  _ trying to help, after all.

“Okay, no worries, man!” Klaus grinned down at him. “I'll help you find something. What do you want? Something professional, something relaxed, loose, tight, sexy— actually, no, you don't get that for like at least five more years.”

“I just— I don't know,” Five muttered, exasperation evident in his tone despite his efforts to keep it down. “Something… comfortable. Not tight. I can't do tight. And not too showy.” Klaus paused for a minute, evidently deep in thought, before his smile brightened and he released Five to clap excitedly. 

“I got it! Okay, but you have to promise not to yell at me, okay? And that you'll actually try it.” He shone puppy eyes down at Five (quite an impressive thing to do with sleep-smudged eyeliner on your face, Five would admit), and Five heaved a sigh, already preparing himself. 

“Fine. Anything to get out of these fucking shorts. But if you bring back something leather don't think I won't maim you.” God, he was going to regret this. 

Klaus crowed in triumph and immediately flung open his door to dash out of his room, calling behind him, “I'll be right back!” as his footsteps faded down the hall. Sitting on the bed beside Klaus's discarded clothes, Five asked despondently, “Am I gonna regret this, Ben?” A moment later, fog appeared on Klaus's mirror as if from someone's breath, and awkward letters traced themselves onto the glass:  _ maybe. do it though? _

“I guess I did promise, huh? ...Help me kill him if he comes back with leather, though.” Moments later, he heard Klaus shout in triumph, before footsteps rushed back down the hall and Klaus reappeared in the room, throwing the door shut behind him. 

“Got it! Okay, you promised—”

“Yeah, yeah, I promised, just give me the damn clothes,” Five grumbled, holding out his hand. Biting his lip, Klaus pushed the fabric into his hand and then whirled around. 

“Okay, get dressed, I won't look!” Rolling his eyes, Five rapped him on the shoulder. 

“I'll just go to my own room, dolt.” A blink of the eye, and he was in his own room, the taste of ozone fading quickly from his tongue. Tossing the clothes onto his bed, he shrugged the pyjamas shirt off, reaching for his sweater to fight the chilly air of his room. As he pulled on his blazer, he finally turned to the clothes that Klaus had picked out for him, lying innocently on the bed. After a moment, he blinked, leaning closer. 

...A skirt?

It was unexpected enough that he froze for a moment, almost forgetting to think critically. It was obviously one of Allison's, but from when she had been a teenager as well. Reaching forward, he picked it up, letting it hang straight. It was obviously long enough to go down past his knees, and up in lifting the skirt, he saw that it was attached to a pair of loose shorts, made of soft, dark grey cotton. For a moment, he just stood there, trying to catch his mind up. He almost wanted to laugh; at the same time, though, he actually wanted to try on the plaid garment. 

A minute later, he faced himself in the mirror, smoothing his hands over the pleats of the skirt. It was… comfy, actually. That was the first thing that came to his mind; the second was that this felt a lot better than the shorts did, at least for the moment. Almost mechanically, he crossed to his closet and searched for a pair of socks, pulling them on before stepping into his shoes. The hem of the skirt went past the tips of the socks, and he silently thanked Grace for sewing Allison some longer skirts. Looking at himself in the mirror, he contemplated it for a moment, before allowing a small smile to flit across his lips. Yeah. Yeah, he was okay with this. After a moment, he murmured, “Nobody gave a shit if I wore pants or skirts in the apocalypse, who gives a shit now?” A thought struck him, and the smile faded. So much for the ‘schoolboy’ thing irritating him. Yes, the fact that he was wearing what was technically a school uniform smarted, but somehow, seeing a skirt was less offensive to him. His mind ground to a halt, but he stopped himself before he could have any sort of crisis. Not before breakfast. He could deal with… _this_ later.

A knock on his door surprised him, and he turned as it opened. “You're supposed to wait until I say you can come in, Klaus,” he sighed, watching his brother peek his head into his room. 

“Is it comfy?” Klaus asked, looking him up and down. “It looks nice.”

“...Yeah, actually.” A smile broke out on Klaus's face. 

“Oh, good!” Finally stepping in, Klaus positively beamed as he gestured to his own outfit. “Look, I got one off of Allison too!” A dark blue skirt hung from his bony hips, surprisingly well fitting on his lanky body. The somewhat disheveled t-shirt didn't quite match, but Five felt something— was it gratitude?— welling up inside him at the sight of his brother. “Now you won't be the only one wearing a skirt.” Klaus paused, then turned his head to the side. “I dunno, dude,  _ can _ you change clothes?” 

“Thanks, Klaus,” Five murmured, turning away under the pretense of fixing his blazer. He would be lying if he said his cheeks weren't a bit warm at the support his brother was showing; it was heartwarming, to say the least.  _ And to think Delores always told me I should try on her shirts, _ he thought, smiling wryly to himself. 

“Anytime, Five.” When he looked up, Klaus's beaming grin had softened to a genuine smile. “Wanna go down for breakfast?” Nodding, Five gave his blazer one last tug.

“Want any coffee?” 

“God, please.” Flashing a grin at Klaus, Five nodded again and hopped to the kitchen, listening for Klaus's indignant squawk. 

“I meant together, man! What happened to the family bonding?!” Laughing softly, Five flicked on the kettle, busying himself with preparing the mugs of coffee. The skirt squished gently around his legs, but the contact was actually somewhat soothing, as opposed to being as irritating as he had thought it would be. He was just pouring the mugs of coffee when he heard Allison walk into the room, pulling out a chair. 

“Did you make one for me?” 

“Yep.” Turning to hand her the mug, he noted her soft grin as she looked at the skirt. 

“Does it fit right?” He raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but nodded. “Good. I was wondering what the hell Klaus needed more of my clothes for, but I'm fine with you using them, especially the old ones. At least you probably won't destroy them like he will.”

“I object to that accusation,” Klaus protested, finally entering the kitchen. “I take better care of your clothes than I do my own! Who did you think ironed the last skirt I used, Luther?” Pausing, Allison tilted her head in acknowledgement. “See! You can trust me with clothes. He's the one that'll get blood and stuff on it.” Padding over to the counter, Klaus picked up a mug, sipping it and wincing at the temperature.

“Whatever you say, Klaus. It looks good, Five.” She smiled at him, and he finally felt himself relax for the first time that morning. It felt nice to be complimented by his sister, he had to admit. Awarding her a rare smile, he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down, sipping his coffee. Slowly, the others came, each thanking Five for the coffee and sitting as Grace, following behind Diego, busied herself with the stove top. With the six of them— seven, if you counted the currently invisible Ben sitting beside Klaus and evidently debating him— gathered around the table, it felt… very homey. Peaceful. Eventually, as the smell of frying eggs filled the air, Klaus solidified Ben so the rest of them could see him. Ben looked away from Klaus for a moment, and upon catching Five's eye, shot him a small smile and a thumbs up. Tipping his coffee to Ben, he grinned back, watching as Ben reached up to snatch the coffee cup straight from Klaus's hands, jumping up and away from the table with a cry of victory. Setting his mug down, Five absentmindedly smoothed his hands over the skirt again, rubbing the soft pleats between his fingers. It was nice. Very nice. No more ‘schoolboy’ attire.  Pausing, he decided that he still did want to wear slacks and the like; after all, he had always been one for suits. For warmer weather, though, the skirts would stay. The thought of why, exactly, he felt the skirts were okay nudged at his thoughts again, but he pushed it aside firmly. He would ask Klaus about it later. For now, he wouldn't let himself think of anything possibly identity-crisis-related before Grace had served them and he had eaten.

Allison softly nudged his side, and he looked at her questioningly. “If you want, we can go shopping today?” After a pause, he nodded. She bit her lip, then gently added, “Do you want to stay in that…?” The implication was obvious; not everyone was as accepting as his family. When their lives were as strange as theirs were, accepting was really the only way they could be.

Shrugging, he replied, “Why not? I like it. If someone has a problem with it, they can go on their way.” And if they needed help minding their own business, he would be more than happy to provide it. Allison's beaming smile spoke volumes for her support.  

—

The silence between them on the drive there was relaxing, for once. Gentle music played from the stereo, Allison's soft hums lacing through the melody as she drove. Five stared out the window at the passing scenery, sunlight falling across his face as he absently smoothed the skirt beneath his fingers, twisting the fabric gently between his thumb and forefinger.

Too bad that now breakfast was over, his mind had decided it was legally allowed to spiral out of control. Now he was stuck, musing over why he suddenly felt more comfortable in a skirt than in the shorts he had been wearing for the last month or so. 

Well, it wasn't that sudden, if he was honest with himself. He'd avoided wearing anything but sturdy pants in the ruined, scorched world he had discovered years and years ago (or, if he was to look at it linearly, about a month ago) because it was the safest, smartest thing to wear. Why would he wear something that would easily break when he knew that his supplies were limited? But before that, ages and ages ago… He remembered staring into his mirror, uncomfortable with his clothes, with his frame. Not the type of discomfort that could be fixed by hemming or a different material against hypersensitive skin; no, it was the discomfort that had made his skin crawl earlier that morning. One morning he had just… woken up wanting change. He hadn't been able to act on it, of course; Reginald would have never allowed any deviation from routine. 

Not that the routine was bad, of course. But sometimes, sometimes he had found himself staring at the skirts Vanya and Allison wore, idly wishing he could try them on, at the very least. Stupid thoughts, he had told himself; impractical. 

Yet Klaus was fine wearing skirts; he had seen him dancing around Allison's room in one before, heard Vanya's laughter as he caught her in his arms and twirled her around, Allison giggling as she ran to put on a record. A rare moment of happiness. Five had found himself watching through the crack in the door, wishing he could be in there with them, wishing he could dance and laugh with them. 

He'd still been a child then.

“Five?” He started, raising his head from the window where it had been resting and looking over at Allison. She was looking at him with curiosity, fingers tapping on the faux leather of the steering wheel as she waited for the stoplight to turn green. “What's occupying you? You seem distracted.” 

“Oh, uh—” He paused, then shifted in his seat, turning to face her fully. “Do you remember when we were kids? You and Klaus and Vanya used to dance around in your room during the weekends when dad was out?” She chuckled, nodding.

“Yeah. Klaus would steal my skirts and dance around… He always insisted on dancing with both of us. One time he tripped when he was dancing and hit his head on my vanity.” A short laugh brightened the air, her lips curling into a smile. “That was a fun one to explain away. I had to tell dad that he fell down the stairs. I'm surprised he never saw the blood on my skirt.” Five laughed at the mental image. “Why do you ask?” 

“...I dunno. I always thought you guys looked like you were having so much fun. It was… I don't know.” He sighed slightly. “It was nice to know that you guys found some happiness with that.” The fabric beneath his hands caught on a callus on his palm, and he frowned, smoothing out the skirt again. “Did Klaus wear skirts a lot?” The light turned green, and Allison turned back to the road. 

“I guess. We only really did it sometimes. He always enjoyed it, though.” She glanced over at him again. “Is that what the skirt thing's about?” What, did she think he was doing this to be like Klaus? The day he tried to imitate that train wreck of a human would be the day he called Reginald a good dad. 

“If you think I would waste my time trying to be like Klaus, you're extremely wrong,” he muttered, turning back to the window. “I just… I'm not sure. I want a change.” Her reflection in the glass nodded, lips pursing slightly as the car turned into the drive leading to the mall. 

“Do you want to look for some more here?” A slight shrug. 

“Yeah.” 

“Nothing above mid-thigh.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Allison.” She laughed again, and he couldn't help but crack a grin as she parked the car. 

“C'mon, I'll help you find something comfy.” For perhaps the first time, he felt grateful that his sister was so… maternal, almost. Caring. It had been a while since he felt such feelings radiating towards him. 

It was a nice change.

—

He stared at the brightly lit stores as they walked past, the gaudy colours inside enough to make him nervous. “I'm not going in anything like that,” he muttered, eyeing the third in a row of stores that looked as if a glitter bomb had detonated with disgust.

“Five, I'm not going to make you go anywhere you don't want,” Allison said patiently, leading him through the rows of stores. “There's some stores that have nicer stuff.” A group of teenage girls passed them, talking loudly, their voices abrasive against his ears. Shrinking slightly back against Allison, he straightened the skirt again nervously. 

“I take it they expanded this place quite a lot since I left?” She nodded, and he grimaced. “And here I thought Delores's store was big.” 

“Bigger means more things.”

“Yeah, and more people.” More loud people, who walked too close for comfort and stared at him rudely, glancing down at his skirt. “They're looking at me funny,” he complained quietly, stepping closer to his sister and shooting a nasty look at a man who was eyeing his skirt weirdly. “I don't like it.” She slowed down slightly, looking down at him with a touch of… what was that? Not sympathy, but understanding. 

“Just ignore them if you can, Five. We're almost at the store.” He nodded, ducking his head and hurrying a bit to keep up with her long legs. Thankfully, she tapped him on the shoulder less than a minute later, and he turned with her into a coolly lit store. Cool air and gentle music greeted them as soon as they stepped into the store, and he almost sighed with relief at the change from the harsh lighting and oppressive chatter outside. “Here, I thought this would be a good place to start…” Leading him through the aisles, she waited as he ran his hands through the hanging skirts, wrinkling his nose at the coarser fabrics. “Pick out anything you want.” Drifting slightly away, she started to rifle through the racks herself, picking out a skirt seemingly at random before glancing to him and smiling. Flashing a small smile back at her, he turned back to the rack before him, letting his hands drift over the assorted skirts. 

Luckily, most of the fabric seemed acceptable and soft. He wrinkled his nose as his fingers caught on scratchy wool, remembering how he had needed new sweaters ages ago when the original ones, a horribly stiff wool, had been simply too uncomfortable to bear. Finally, though, he picked out a couple skirts, soft and plain, and, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed one with dark red and grey pleats before wandering to the slacks section. He liked pleats, he decided, letting his fingers flutter over the ones currently hanging down his legs. As he began to look through the slacks, trying to remember what size he wore, he thought idly that he was glad Allison had come, and not Klaus. Though he appreciated his brother, he knew without a doubt Klaus would be shoving brightly coloured, flashy articles into his hands, and most likely making a scene while he was at it. Allison seemed to understand his preference for solitude, for taking things and dealing with them in his own way. Klaus, however… 

“He's like a squirrel with a strobe light,” he muttered to himself, huffing out a soft laugh through his nose as he picked out a nice pair. A man in the aisle across from him looked up at him with an odd expression, but went back to his business, murmuring to himself. Five felt his metaphorical hackles raise as he caught the tail end of a few choice words. 

“...damn trannies, can't stand…” Head whipping to  view the man, he snapped, “Excuse me?” Seemingly surprised, the man looked back at him, false innocence on his face. 

“I beg your pardon?” Five opened his mouth to retort, stepping forward, but before he could speak, a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Is there a problem here?” Allison's voice, polite yet clipped, rang out over his head. The man blinked, then straightened up. 

“I'm sorry, is this your…? What, son? Daughter? Tell him to—” Five felt his temper, already short on a good day, rise with alarming ferocity. Allison's hand, still clamped on his shoulder, squeezed as she stepped forward. 

“I think you should go, sir.” 

“Why? I have a right to speak my mind. I don't—” Jesus, this was exactly what he hadn't wanted. Before he could speak, though, Allison took a deep breath. 

“I heard a rumour that you had to go.” Five froze, watching as the man's eyes glazed over. 

“I… have to go.” Without another word, the man turned on his heel and left. After a moment, Allison sighed shakily, then turned to him, fire in her eyes. 

“I know I said I was doing that less, but…” She sighed, then smiled again. “Ignore him. Okay?” Hand still on his shoulder, she began walking towards the dressing rooms. He let her pull him along, his simmering rage at the man overshadowed by his surprise that Allison had been so quick to use her rumours to defend him. After a moment, he realized with a pang that it had probably been that he looked so young; yes, he was older than her Claire, but he knew Allison. She had always been defensive of younger victims in their missions. 

“Thanks,” he finally murmured as she stopped. 

“Of course. Now go try this on, okay? Make sure they're comfortable.” She ushered him towards the rooms, and he slowly entered one, pulling the door closed behind him. It wasn't until he was toeing off his shoes and holding up the first of his skirts that he realized his hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to file the rage away for now. Instead, he distracted himself by slowly pulling on the skirt, looking at himself in the mirror. 

It was… new. 

He couldn't really think much past that. New. Different. He didn't like different, but he liked this.

Odd.

Shaking his head, he forces himself to actually look at the skirt. It was the soft pleated one he had picked up, and he took the time to smooth it against his legs, running the fabric over his fingers. It looked nice.

He looked nice. 

The man's words echoed again in his head, and he grimaced. He may have grown up in the Hargreeves household, but he wasn't blind to the world; unlike the others, he had had the privilege of being able to leave whenever he wanted. He had spent many sleepless nights reading, exploring, learning about the world in his own aloof way. Five knew the term, had heard it hurled at passersby on the street with venom and hate. 

Sighing, he pulled off the skirt and reached for another. He wasn't a girl, he knew that much. So what if he liked to wear skirts? ...Although, he was again wondering which part of the ‘schoolboy’ comment had really irritated him. Was there anything else he  _ could _ be? He had never really grasped the nuances of the masculinity Luther seemed to exude, but then again, he was never interested in being quite as… well, classically girly as Allison had become as a pre-teen. He was just… Five. In his years stranded alone on earth, he had had plenty of time to think about who he was. It never lined up with anything exactly gender oriented, though; he was just Five. Smart, cunning, strategic, and alone. Was it possible to identify as nothing at all? 

Shaking his head, he seemed the skirt good and reached for a pair of slacks to replace it with. They were comfy, and he was quick to move through the rest of the clothes. Finally, he put his shoes and original skirt back on and stepped out. Allison awaited him at the entrance to the row of dressing rooms, and she smiled as he approached. “Did they work?” 

“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, he paused before asking hesitantly, “I, uh… I liked the skirts. They looked nice.” 

“Good. Do you wanna go get some food after this, or check out somewhere else, or…?”

“Food would be nice.” She nodded, and they began towards the cashier. 

“Did you get any shirts?” He shook his head. 

“I'm fine with this.” He liked his sweater, and his blazer felt like a small suit of armour, flimsy as it was. It was comfortable; it was him. 

“You sure?” Allison pressed. After a moment of silence, she pursed her lips, then said, “How about this: you get these and I get to pick out a sweater for you. Alright?” ...Well, it would be rude of him to say no. 

“Alright.” Beaming, she patted him on the shoulder and left him in line, striding through the racks and disappearing behind a particularly tall rack of shirts. Sighing softly, Five tapped his leg idly, waiting as the line before him slowly shortened. Thankfully, he wasn't alone for long, as she somehow returned less than a minute later. Five suspected that she had been checking out the sweaters while he was busy having a crisis in the changing room. 

“What do you think?” She held out a blue sweater with a pleasant horizontal stripe pattern, the navy cut across with soothing light and dark greys. Five reached up and rubbed the fabric between his fingers; it was nice and soft, and seemed stretchy enough to be comfortable. “I know you don't like the scratchy stuff, so I thought maybe…”

Five stepped back and smiled at her. “I like it. Thank you, Allison.” She grinned back before ushering him forward as the cashier called for the next in line. The sweetness of his sister, though not enough to completely banish the thought of the man from his mind, was more than enough to make him not really care much about the man's words. Who needed to focus on incidents like that when he was with his family?

And when on earth did he start turning sentimental?

—

They sat at a table in the cafeteria, sipping lemonade and eating cheap Chinese food from the express restaurant. Five was brooding, thinking over his revelations of the day. Swallowing a mouthful of noodles, Allison set down the wooden chopsticks and leaned forward. “You still caught up on that guy from before?” Snapping out of his distraction at the sound of her voice, Five looked up. 

“Huh? Not really, no…” She raised an eyebrow, apparently unconvinced. “I'm not. Really. Just…” He shrugged, picking up his cup of lemonade and idly swirling it in his hand. “I dunno. Do you ever…” Twisting his mouth into a grimace, he stuck the straw in his mouth, taking a sip of the saccharine lemonade. “I don't know. I don't know how to put it, you know?” A frustrated sigh escaped him. “I don't like not knowing. It feels wrong.” Allison nodded, picking up her chopsticks again and twirling them in her chow mein idly. 

“Is it about the skirt thing?” Blowing out a breath of air, he nodded. “What about it?”

“Well… I dunno. I like wearing them. And… I remember before, when we were kids. I was curious about them back then too. But… I don't— It feels like I shouldn't like wearing them, you know? Like… I don't feel like a girl. But I just… I dunno.” He set down the lemonade, slumping slightly and resting his head on his hand. 

“Well, you like the skirt, right?” A nod. “I mean… you don't have to be a girl to like skirts. Look at Klaus.” 

“Yeah, but I don't…” God, why was this so hard to articulate? “I don't… people kept calling my shorts schoolboy shorts. I don't want to be a schoolboy. I don't  _ feel  _ like a schoolboy. I just feel like… like me, you know?” He grumbled something incoherent even to himself before muttering, “This was easier when there was nobody to care who I was.” Well, Delores excluded, but the point remained. 

“Well, even if it was easier with nobody around, we're here for you, Five.” He looked up, surprised at the intenseness of her tone. Allison reached across the table and laid a light hand on his arm, eyes serious. “All of us. Okay? You know Klaus is on your side, and I promise I am. We're here for you no matter what.” Her words warmed his heart, and he smiled faintly, placing his hand over here. 

“I appreciate it, Allison. Thank you.” Seemingly satisfied, she remained leaning over the table a moment more before leaning back, allowing him to pull back his arms. 

“Eat up, yeah? I want you to help me pick out a gift for Claire after this. She’s excited to meet you next month.” Obligingly, he picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of his lunch. 

What an odd day it had been.

**Author's Note:**

> This is most likely the first in a small series that will take place in the same timeline. As the lovely allaround87 put it, the apocalypse doesn't care about gender norms. Come find me on tumblr @officialfivehargreeves to talk to me about TUA.  
> Have a great day!


End file.
